“He was an ardent lover of animals – devoted to his two pet shepherd dogs - and he detested any animal being exploited for commercial purposes. Eva Braun has described how he once rescued a butterfly from drowning in the Konigsee and would not be satisfied until he had seen it flutter its wings and fly away. Hitler also hated to see anyone ill or in pain and was once beside himself with concern when Eva was suffering from a prolonged bout of toothache.”- (Courtesy- James Bunting in his book ‘Adolf Hitler’)
My friend who is settled in Mumbai with his family in his youthful days was a firebrand revolutionary who dreamt of Spring Thunder always holding extremist ideas close to his bosom. His total dedication to the revolutionary path forced his kith and kin to ‘exile’ him to the cosmopolitan city and one day one fine morning he landed in Mumbai. His elder brother had entrusted the care and protection of my friend to an influential friend who was holding a powerful post in a chemical firm. The gentle man within no time got my friend employed in his own firm. In the initial days the revolutionary sparks in him refused to die down and those sparks made him restless. The very sight of children of poverty fighting for their livelihood down the streets, railway platforms and slums made him seething with anger towards the establishment, but in course of time he had to get on with his ‘impotent rage’.
As the days passed by the embers of revolutionary spirit died down in him even without a whimper. While commuting in the local trains or buses with a kind of detachment he could witness the miseries, accidents, cries in the wilderness, pick-pockets getting lynched, man knifing man in cold-blood he was witness to all. A mute spectator to be precise.
Over the years the youthful revolutionary of yester years - when I first met him, he was lean, lanky, with thick growth of hair and bushy moustache, flowing beard, in casual dress without caring much about the appearance-found himself transformed into bulky, partially bald, clean shaven, sans moustache, dressed like a macho also with an air of dignity with own vehicle driving to and fro in style. In the meantime he got married, fathered two children, bought a costly flat in the western suburb of Mumbai and fully dedicated to work got promoted to the post of production manager of his firm and his god-father who was his mentor leaving to his native state of Kerala to spend his twilight years with his loving and caring family.
At least once in two or three years, either my friend alone or with his family visits his native state to be with his family members, at his village that also for a short span and rush to the city, now his beloved Mumbai.
Transformation - both external and internal in the sense that the firebrand revolutionary of yore, over the years, evolved into a God-fearing matured man with much of his leisure moments devoted to Yoga, meditation, flipping through the pages of epics like Ramayana, Mahabharatha, and Bhagavad Gita, and those ones imparting positive thinking like Robin Sharma’s ‘The monk who sold his Ferrari’, ‘Magic of thinking Big’ by David Schwartz or any work of Stephen Covey and the likes.
Existential agony, identity crisis, tension driven life- all hallmarks of a cosmopolitan life- force a man/woman to turn to spirituality, it is no wonder.
Okay. Some months back on a sudden impulse I rang him up to exchange some pleasantries. Once in a while I ring up my friends to exchange ‘sweet nothings’. Without such things after all, what is life?
He was returning home after fulfilling some official engagements in Surat, Gujarat. After exchanging some sweet nothings, the journalistic curiosity in me prompted to inquire about Modi’s Gujarat. My friend could not find words to shower his appreciation on Modi, for the host of reforms he has brought about in Gujarat ranging from infrastructure developments, massive investment to bring about industrial development inviting corporate honchos like Ratan Tata and Ambanis’, also the multi-nationals, the comparatively peaceful law and order situation he was all praises for, Narendra Modi.
I didn’t want to embarrass my friend grilling him on the 2002 Gujarat pogrom leading to the gruesome massacre of thousands of Muslims, mind-boggling vandalism culminating in the destruction of properties, fake encounter deaths, mass rape of Muslim women and girls- those were the days which witnessed Gujarat in flames.
Though I have some reservations for argument’s sake let me agree that Modi is a good administrator. He is honest and uncorrupt. Whether all the good things he had done and still doing can wipe out the blood stains imprinted on the psyche of a minority community and those who watched Gujarat burning helplessly.
Whenever I notice or think about the face of Narendra Modi, I am always reminded of the protagonists of Shakespearean tragedies. Notwithstanding all the positive qualities, a protagonist of a Shakespearean tragedy reaches his/her tragic end due to a single but a major negative point in his/her character, thus getting all his/her plus points getting overclouded, ultimately leading to his/her doom. Othello, Hamlet, Macbeth, Antony and Cleopatra, King Lear, Romeo and Juliet all point towards this tragic fact.
As Jayanthi Natarajan stated (I don’t care which party she belongs to) Modi may come out unscathed from a court of law, but in public perception he is still guilty. Even thousands of Amitabh Bachachans donning the garb of brand ambassador can’t wash away the sins committed in the state in 2002 through his tall talks about the development, progress and rich cultural heritage of Gujarat.
Father of the nation who was born and brought up in Gujarat who preached non-violence and tolerance towards all religions and strove for the unity of all Indians irrespective of caste, creed, religion through out his life must have turned in his grave on the fateful days of post-Godhra incidents in 2002.
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